


The Call

by robotfvckers



Series: Halloween Strawpoll Prompts [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angsty Schmoop, Bloodlust, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Come Swallowing, Cultist Tekhartha Zenyatta, Cultist!zenyatta, Human Sacrifice, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, IT'S ALL VERY MESSY LMAO, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Knifeplay, M/M, Monsters, Schmoop, Slime, Sort Of, Tentacle Dick, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Wet & Messy, Zenthulu, and some feelings, cult skin zenyatta, sorta of mentioned but not really, tentacle zenyatta, there's not tag for any of this shit lmao, who even knows what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-11 01:38:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12312105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotfvckers/pseuds/robotfvckers
Summary: When Zenyatta disappears during a routine mission, Genji does not give up the search. Inspired by the Cthulhu!Zenyatta Halloween skin.





	The Call

****He still dreamed about the night Zenyatta disappeared. His master reported an all clear in his low, resonant voice, the final check on a routine mission. Genji waited for him at the rendezvous point; they were going to stay in for the night, watch a few of Zenyatta’s favorite movies that had released while Genji was in Blackwatch.

“We have to make up for lost time,” his master had said.

“I am not sure if _They Came from the Omnium 5_ is worth remembering.”

“Untrue. The effects are quite humorous.”

They had laughed about it before Zenyatta departed for the mission.

It was his first thought when Zenyatta’s estimated time of arrival passed without word. Genji requested a status update.

No response.

Beyond that, the night blurred, worry spiraling into blind panic. He wasn’t there when it happened, but his nightmares provided hypotheticals enough. Zenyatta torn apart in an explosion of sparks or dissected beneath the cruel gaze of talon's scientists. The visions were less terrifying than the truth: he reviewed Athena’s footage of his master’s last known location. It provided almost nothing: Zenyatta’s signal on the map, a small teal blip. There in one frame, gone the next, like he was swallowed by the earth.

Overwatch scoured the area, hacked the surrounding surveillance, searched for ransom notes, whispers, rumors: nothing. Genji didn't stop searching, even when Overwatch closed the case, even when Hanzo approached him one night months later as he sat on the balcony of the watchpoint, staring over the dark sea.

Hanzo grasped his shoulder.

“I cannot bear to watch you like this.” Then, in a whisper. “He would not want you to suffer so.”

Genji shrugged off Hanzo’s hand, turned away without saying a word. Hanzo left him.

In the morning, Genji was gone.

* * *

He doesn’t know where to begin, but still he persists. Genji scours Zenyatta’s last known location for the hundredth time without success. He shows passerby Zenyatta’s hologram, doing legwork that was too risky for an organization like Overwatch. Alone, he is a human, shrouded in a hoodie and a pair of worn jeans, looking for a missing friend. Genji spends weeks going door to door, sleeping little, rarely eating, tireless.

It is this endless determination (desperation) that causes his misstep.

A woman recognizes Zenyatta. There’s a hollow glimmer in her strange eyes, lips dark and tight as she nods with a single solemn dip of her chin. She points behind Genji towards a small alleyway hidden in the gloom.

“There.” Her voice rings in the silence.

Genji does not question her. Instead he turns, walks with aching feet towards the shadows. If she spoke false, at least it had been a trail followed.

A sharp, thick hiss precedes a sting at his throat. His vision blackens before he hits the ground.

* * *

Pain summons him from the brink. He swears as he blearily opens his eyes, head pounding and vision swimming, every sensation slow and sickening. Movement catches his eye, and he watches the receding knife that had seconds before drawn a long, red line on his naked chest. His armor is stripped away, exposing scarred flesh and old, delicate wiring. He cannot see his captor’s face, shrouded by a large hood and cloak, emblazoned with a single green and gold eye that at once feels familiar.

Chains at his wrists and ankles pin him to a cement slab, cold and hard along his aching body. His head pulses to the beat of their whispers, and with a start Genji realizes they are not alone. The murmuring becomes repetitive and guttural, and dread courses through his body as the knife returns, glinting in the flickering green glow of the light. He clenches his jaw, closes his eyes, disappointment and fury and despair squeezing his chest. He would die here, sickened and alone.

Zenyatta is the only thing he can think of as the knife dips into his skin, burns him through, and he swallows his scream, bile threatening to spill just as his blood dribbles down the quaking planes of his body.

Sickness and awareness ebb, replaced by an immense pressure, like a blanket tucked into his skull.

_No._

The voice reverberates through his mind, mechanical and subharmonic, familiar in a way he cannot describe. Then there is no chanting, no knife carving into him, only the sounds of heavy, soft thuds hitting the floor.

Silence.

The pressure increases like the approach of storm licking against his body, and the ache of the cuts recede. Genji opens his eyes to stare into a singular glowing eye, and he gasps as its pupil dilates. For a moment, he cannot believe what he sees, glowing and trembling like a living thing. Warmth emanates from it, and his eyes trail to its source, a being that steps forth from the shadows, a phantom of purples and ectoplasmic green. Before Genji can think the exhalation escapes him.

“Master.”

Zenyatta stills, the segmented tendrils of his face the only motion he can detect. Unshed tears prickle his eyes, sickness and pain held at bay from the strange orb hovering above. As slow as a dream, Zenyatta approaches until he is astride him, staring down at Genji with his haunting green eyes.

_Gen...ji…_

His other orbs, eyes, blinking and spinning in slow rotation, fixate on a single point: the blood at Genji’s chest, leaking from his healing wound.

Genji gasps as his master cranes forward, the first brush of his tentacles against his chilled flesh warm and slippery like plush, textureless tongues. They smear and lap at his wounds, delicate and slippery.

“Zenyatta, what are—”

_Mine...my…_

The words echo in his mind, soothing but strange. He wonders if he hallucinates, is bleeding out on the table in an abandoned basement, imagining the impossible in his final moments. With his master bent low, he can see the hooded figures crumpled around the room. They could be dead, but he cannot focus on that, not when he feels a sharp nip at his skin, body heating beneath the strange tentacles squirming along his chest.

The tip of one circles his nipple, flicking it, twisting and tugging like a dextrous tongue, and he groans, low and stunned, still not quite believing his body or mind.

_My...student...Mine…_

The soft, resonant tones of his master shiver along his spine, and his body remembers, heating beneath the gentle ministrations. His master’s hands caress the cables at his middle, twist against the connectors at his stomach, teasing along the exposed ports, and he arches off the slab, chains clinking as he strains.

“ _Please_.”

Zenyatta moves slowly, touching Genji like it is the first time, careful and explorative, as if afraid to hurt him. He remembers how to open Genji up, modesty panel withdrawing with a quiet hiss, cock emerging, half-hard, against his thighs.

The tentacles slither down his body, catching against his aches, leaving a hot, slimy trail that is slow to cool, though his nipple pebbles and swells against the tepid air, strangely tingly.

The sight, the sensations are too much when Zenyatta kisses between his hips, and Genji is cognizant of something sharp beneath the mass of writhing tendrils, teeth or perhaps a beak, but trepidation leaves him as the first hot swipe of tentacle catches the base of his cock.

He tosses his head back, hissing, the soft chant of Zenyatta’s voice caressing his mind.

_Mine. Genji. Love. I have...you…_

The tentacles writhe and leak around his cock, stroking and teasing, everything wet and swollen and tingling beneath his belly. It’s impossible to tell one sensation from the next, only that he’s completely enveloped in it, voice breaking when he somehow slips deeper, cock gliding into a pulsating core, almost too hot, and Zenyatta suckles, swallowing around his cock. Genji wails, the first tears slipping down his cheeks, bucking into the impossible swollen suction of his master’s mouth, loud and needy, inhibitions crumbled.

His eyes bore into Genji’s as his head recedes, fucking himself on Genji’s cock, tentacles cradling and massaging his balls, flexing lower, wiggling and slickening the skin beneath, teasing his opening as his student moans in fluttery, broken notes. Zenyatta’s consciousness thrums in his mind, a living, pulsing thing, reading his thoughts as he strains, spreads his legs to allow the warm, questing tentacle that wiggles into his body with a thick, wet slurp that makes him laugh before the sound is swallowed beneath a litany of swears.

It takes only a few, wiggling thrusts, another tentacle teasing, licking around his rim, before Genji curls his toes against the sensation, barreling towards the brink without hope to fight it.

“Zen—I’m—oh, _fuck_ —”

His teeth clack together as his orgasm rips through him, pleasure spiking so hard and high spots blacken his vision. Zenyatta milks him, suckling every last drop, tentacles undulating, his true tongue laving against the underside of his cock that forces more tears from his eyes.

“P-please, master, too much…”

Only then does Zenyatta withdraw, Genji’s lower half a mess of slime, tingling and viscous and too warm, his cock still slightly thick and twitching. Zenyatta crushes the shackles holding him captive with a single clench of his hands, discord radiating in a nauseating violet. The tentacle wriggling inside him flutters in apology, fucks deeper, and Genji slides his legs up and open, gripping the backs of his knees to let his master squirm and burrow deeper. His cock gives another hard twitch, the sensation strange and hot, his hips trembling with the intensity of it coiling within him.

His orgasm builds, so close again, and it's like Zenyatta can sense it, reads it in his mind, because he shifts, withdraws his tentacle with a thick, wet squelch that makes Genji blush.

Genji babbles, thrusts once when he hears the too familiar hiss of Zenyatta’s panel opening, and he knows what’s next, begs for it so easily in this nightmare place with his master, different in appearance, yes, but the same soul resonates, gentle and kind and familiar in his mind.

_Genji. Please._

Genji tugs his knees flush to his chest, offering himself, cannot stay still beneath his lover he had thought lost.

“Hurry.”

Genji groans, unable to draw his eyes away from Zenyatta’s face. There is no resistance, and Zenyatta coos when he slides in with a thick, smooth press, slime bubbling past his master’s cock. Mindlessness becomes insanity when tentacles find Genji’s cock once more, and he has to stare down his body to see for himself as they writhe and explore where he’s speared open and claimed, stroking like too soft hands, laving and tonguing with endless energy.

He can feel Zenyatta’s pleasure, his contentment, his need as he thrusts, and their coupling never sounded as wet and obscene as it does now, thick squelching smacks even with how gentle Zenyatta fucks him.

“More, master, please.” Genji begs, legs twisting possessively behind Zenyatta’s back.

He cannot stop his tears, and Zenyatta leans close, tentacles caressing his face, smearing the tracks with smooth, cool slickness.

_I am here, Genji. I am whole again._

Genji seizes, buries his hands against the strange new bumps and nodes of Zenyatta’s back, sobbing as pleasure and relief flood him, harmonious and pure, like they are home and safe. Zenyatta’s mind touches his own, mirroring his feelings, thrusts quickening, and Genji laughs, crazed, marveling at the sounds they’re making, that only a short time ago he had thought he would die without ever seeing his master again. Even if this is a hallucination, he thanks the Iris for it, the pleasure second to having Zenyatta in his arms.

They read each other’s thoughts and fears and sorrows, soothe them, kiss away each lingering sadness and hurt until there is only the warmth of their bodies and harmony in their minds. Distantly he feels himself come again, and Zenyatta’s consciousness overwhelms him, steals time and thought as the pleasure continues for an eternity.

When Genji returns, the darkness of the room has receded, chased back by Zenyatta’s glow, bright like a forest of shimmering leaves, his mind quiet but still present, a thread binding them closer than they had ever been.

Zenyatta withdraws with a slow retreat of his hips, tense, as if he’s expecting—

Slime and spend sluices out of Genji with alarming speed and noise, coating the slab beneath them.

“Oh, my.” Zenyatta manages, speaking with his synth instead of the resonant thrum of telekinesis.

And Genji laughs, because the exclamation is so Zenyatta, relief and love settling like a comforting weight in his chest.

“This may take some getting used to.” Genji says, voice hoarse and tinged with mirth.

Zenyatta chuckles, shaking his head as his tentacles twist and coil, pleased.

“I suppose so.”

With reverence and unending gentleness, Zenyatta collects Genji in his arms, drapes his cloak over his naked body.

“Let us go home.”

Genji nods against Zenyatta’s chest, and buries his face into his warm chassis.


End file.
